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I Wanted to Stay Home With My Son. So Why Would I Lie About It?

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I Wanted to Stay Home With My Son. So Why Would I Lie About It?

By Jessica Levy November 1, 2015 6:48 amNovember 1, 2015 6:48 am

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Credit Illustration by Allison Steen

The connection crackles after the applicant’s well-rehearsed introduction. I glance over his r‎ésumé again as I wait for the static to clear. Elyas from Blue Bell, Pa. He is only 18 years old but the page has no white space, even with Size 10 writing and a strategically selected font.

I’m his alumni interviewer. What Elyas doesn’t know is that I’ve been rehearsing my part of the conversation, too. There is a question that I’m dreading for the first time ever: “What do you do?”

In the past, I’ve always had an answer that I could be proud of. I’ve been lucky, and I’ve worked hard. I had internships at places like the White House before starting a career with the State Department immediately after graduating from college.

This time, though, my answer is a controversial one: I’m a mother. Just a mother. It truly is the world’s oldest profession, but somehow it still elicits strong reactions. Whether it’s fervent support or an embarrassed-for-you silence that betrays heaps of judgment, strangers don’t hesitate to tell me exactly where I stand on their moral compass.

And what do I do, exactly? I change dirty diapers, drive around aimlessly when my baby will only nap in the car seat, and narrate our walks through supermarket aisles out loud. I rotate the same seven old T-shirts, which I’ve now come to think of as my “uniform,” because there is no point in ruining my entire wardrobe. Somehow, I don’t think this job description will help sell my alma mater.

And so I prepared a short, generic answer about my work as a Foreign Service Officer, conveniently leaving out the fact that I’m on a long-term, two-year-plus leave of absence.

I’m 27 and Ivy League-educated; I was 26 when my son was born. I’m not supposed to be a mother yet, according to most of my peers, and certainly not a stay-at-home one. It’s a message that was drilled into me by countless high-powered women who came to give keynote speeches during my university days, driven by the need to warn us about lessons that many of them had learned the hard way: You can’t count on anyone but yourself. Lean in. Stay independent.

Being childless was a professional advantage that had hurtled my career forward. Oh, you need someone to work late? Sure. A last-minute trip abroad? Great!

Until it wasn’t so great. Until I had a child. Until the long work hours didn’t make sense for me. Until I had to choose between my career and my baby boy. The choice for me wasn’t obvious, but I know that I’m incredibly lucky to have had a choice. Many people don’t.

I knew I wanted to stay home, at least for the near future, when my son was just a few days old. I just couldn’t bear to leave him. When I looked at my parents after he was born, I was overwhelmed with the realization that they must have loved me that much. I never even imagined that such strong feelings could exist, and I told my mom as much. Now, when I talk to her, I sign off with “I love you.” She says, “I love you more.” She is right.

But filled with love or not, the days with a newborn baby are long, and I had quite a bit of anxiety about my new “job” and showing that I was truly adding value to our home. In the beginning, I clocked in more than eight hours a day just sitting in a glider nursing him. Not being able to shake my need for proof of my self-worth and my household contributions, I saved the data from my “Eat, Sleep” app to document it.

I muddled forward, hoping I was doing well enough at this whole mothering thing, a job for which I had zero official training and zero experience, taking care of a child who, at times, quite frankly terrified me. I had no performance reviews to tell me I was doing just fine. I just had a baby, often a crying one, seemingly confirming that maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. I craved the office. I craved feedback. I craved the self-assured confidence that I used to take for granted when I had a job with a boss and regular hours. There was a lingering sense of shame that I couldn’t shake when friends and family members asked when I was going back to work.

But at the same time, I know I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing. Because when I decided to stay home with my child, I made the calculations based on what was best for me and for him. Based on what I would do if I didn’t care what others thought. I just wish I could continue to apply that line of thinking in practice, and not just in theory. Because in real life, I clearly care a great deal about what others think, even high school seniors who aren’t really thinking about me at all.

The anxiety and the jealousy have quieted over time, but there are moments when they still rear their ugly heads. Colleagues whose careers I keep an eye on are soaring past me. The other day, I opened up the Forbes “30 Under 30” special and saw that three people from my graduating class alone made the cut.

But my son is a year old now. And while I can’t honestly say that I had an epiphany one day and the doubt was suddenly gone, I can say that there are now many, many more bright days and very few dark ones.
And occasionally, like the time when my son gave me his first sloppy, wet kiss, all of the frustration, all of the questioning and all of the exhaustion melt away as if they were a dream. That’s my performance review. And that’s when I know that although I’ve given up one identity, I’ve gained another.

And I’m O.K. with that. I am really, truly, finally O.K.

Months after the alumni interview, the one where I embarrassingly lied to avoid the judgment of an 18-year-old, I found out that Elyas was accepted. I sent a congratulatory e-mail, and considered mentioning my hidden motherhood and why I didn’t tell him the truth. But at that point, it wasn’t about me.

Instead, I told him to give his mother a hug and tell her he loves her. Because she loves him more. I’m sure of it.

About

We're all living the family dynamic, as parents, as children, as siblings, uncles and aunts. At Motherlode, lead writer and editor KJ Dell’Antonia invites contributors and commenters to explore how our families affect our lives, and how the news affects our families—and all families. Join us to talk about education, child care, mealtime, sports, technology, the work-family balance and much more